


next stop: nowhere

by nightswatch



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 15:30:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7273684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswatch/pseuds/nightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neil and Andrew have a week to themselves and decide to hit the road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	next stop: nowhere

“We should go somewhere,” Andrew says. His lips are half an inch from Neil’s. 

Neil isn’t sure what’s more surprising: that Andrew said _we_ or that he made that suggestion in the first place. Until just now, Neil was assuming that they’d stay in Columbia for the following week. It’s just the two of them and Neil would be lying if he said that he didn’t find it strange. Sometimes he doesn’t know how to act around Andrew. He doesn’t know how he’s allowed to act. He doesn’t know what Andrew wants. 

It’s dark in Andrew’s room. The sun was still up when Andrew pushed Neil down on his bed and mumbled a _yes or no_ against Neil’s skin. Neil whispered back a _yes_. Dusk fell and neither of them noticed. 

“Where?” Neil asks.

“Anywhere,” Andrew replies. His teeth drag over Neil’s skin. Fingers wrapped around Neil’s wrists, he’s keeping him firmly in place. 

Today is not a day for touches. There have been some. During the last two weeks, there was room for a carefully calculated touch here and there and Andrew has found a way of letting Neil know where he wants his hands. _Here_ , he said and put Neil’s hand on his chest and two days later: _here as well._ But not today. Today is one of those days where Andrew can’t stand Neil’s hands anywhere close to him. Tomorrow might be different and Neil is patient enough to find out. 

“I don’t care,” Andrew says. He lets go of Neil and smoothly rolls off him. “Somewhere.”

“Okay,” Neil says. “Let’s go somewhere.”

“Okay,” Andrew says and it sounds like he’s the one who’s conceding, like it wasn’t him who made the suggestion in the first place.

Andrew shifts and wiggles and a moment later his pants hit the floor.

“I can sleep on the couch,” Neil says. He wouldn’t want to sleep in Aaron’s or Nicky’s room even though they’re both not here. Kevin isn’t here either so Neil expected that he’d be spending the week sleeping on the couch. Last night, Neil was already on his way there when Andrew pulled him back into his room.

“No,” Andrew says. He doesn’t tell him to stay, just tells him that he doesn’t have to go if he doesn’t want to. 

It’s enough to convince Neil to spend the night in Andrew’s bed. 

*

In the morning, Neil finds the other side of the bed empty. The door to the balcony is open and Andrew is outside, leaning against the railing, smoking. 

Neil slips out of bed and pulls on a shirt that he picks off the floor. It's white and has an bright orange fox printed on the front. He doesn’t check if there’s a 3 or a 10 on the back and chances are that Andrew won’t care if Neil steals his shirt. It’s in moments like this one, when he’s not quite awake enough to know better, that Neil wants to step up behind Andrew and wrap his arms around him and just feel Andrew against him. 

Instead he leans against the railing as well. Andrew hands him what’s left of his cigarette, but doesn’t light another one. 

“Are we still going somewhere?” Neil asks. 

“You’re driving,” Andrew says and goes inside. 

Neil watches Andrew’s cigarette burn down, then he stubs it out and follows Andrew back into the house.

An hour later they’re on the road, two bags on the backseat. They’ve only packed the bare minimum. They’ll only be gone for a couple of days, or that’s the plan anyway. Neil is driving and Andrew is lounging in the passenger seat, staring out the window. He doesn’t care where they’re going. Neil doesn’t either. He just drives.  They’re headed north on the I-77 towards Charlotte, but Neil doubts that they’ll stop there. They’re going nowhere at all. He’ll drive until Andrew tells him to stop or until he gets too tired to keep going. 

The radio fills the silence.

At a truck stop in the middle of nowhere, Neil pulls off the Interstate. Noon has come and gone. He buys them soggy sandwiches at the gas station and they eat them at a picnic table that’s been spray-painted and is covered in sandwich wrappers and empty coffee cups. The sun is burning down on their heads and Neil isn’t sure if this is what a road trip is supposed to look like. 

When he was running, they only stopped when they had to and they didn’t stick around anywhere for longer than was absolutely necessary. Sitting at picnic tables and eating sandwiches was never part of the deal. 

Andrew doesn’t seem to mind, ignores the sandwich wrappers, doesn’t comment on the sogginess of his sandwich. Neil only hopes that Andrew won’t catch him looking, even though he always does. The truth is that Neil likes to look. He wants to be allowed to look. 

“Stop it,” Andrew says soon enough, but it doesn't sound as harsh as it does on some other days.

Neil turns his face away and finishes his sandwich. 

They get back in the car and Neil doesn’t ask again where Andrew wants him to go. Andrew couldn’t care less where they end up. If Neil keeps going north, if he heads for the coast, Neil realizes, they’ll inevitably end up close to Baltimore. He heads north-west instead and pulls off the Interstate somewhere in West Virginia. 

It’s late afternoon and Neil hates to admit it, but he needs a break. Andrew doesn’t comment, doesn’t complain, only raises his eyebrows when Neil pulls into the parking lot of a motel. He probably could have looked for one that doesn’t hold a promise of shady deals going down in the neighboring rooms, but Neil isn’t sure if he can feel his foot anymore, so if Andrew doesn’t want to stay here, he’s very welcome to drive them somewhere else. Neil is done for the day.

Andrew, of course, doesn’t care. He gets out of the car and says, “I’ll get us a room.”

Neil’s eyes follow him as he trudges to the office. 

If Neil had to, he could keep going, he could spend another two hours, another three hours in the car, driving and driving, going nowhere in particular. But they’re not running. They’re going somewhere, even though they haven’t decided where that somewhere is yet. When you’re just going somewhere, it doesn’t matter how many miles a day you go. It doesn’t matter if you take a break, if you linger in a place for a few hours or even a few days. 

Andrew returns with a key in hand, the plastic tag with the room number on it chipped. “We didn’t have to pay extra for the cockroaches, isn’t that neat?”

“We could have found some other place.”

Andrew shrugs. _Don’t care_.

Neil gets their bags from the backseat locks the car, then he follows Andrew to the upstairs rooms. There are no cockroaches, or at least none that Neil could see at first glance. The wallpaper is ugly, the patterns on the duvets are old-fashioned, but it’ll do for a night.

He flops down on one of the beds with a sigh. He understands why Coach was so insistent that they all take a break. They need one. The last few weeks were exhausting for all of them and yet Neil has never been happier in his entire life. 

Andrew’s bag hits the floor as he eyes the smoke detector with disdain. He casts an indifferent glance at Neil, then he gets his cigarettes and is out the door.

Neil doesn’t follow him. He needs a minute. Two minutes, maybe.

All of this feels too much like something it’s not. He knows he’s not running. He knows, he knows. But he’s spent all day in the car, going nowhere, just driving, and now he’s in a motel with ugly wallpaper and old-fashioned duvets and he’s seen too many of those in his lifetime. He dreads waking up tomorrow morning, he dreads the feeling of not knowing, for only a few seconds, where he is and why he’s there. 

His fist clenches in the duvet. He knows it’s not like all the other times. He knows. He just has to keep reminding himself.

The door opens and Andrew returns. When Neil wakes up tomorrow morning, he’ll see Andrew and he’ll remember the key to the house in Columbia and he’ll know that he has a place to go back to. 

He’s not running. 

“Dinner?” Andrew asks, completely disregarding the fact that it takes Neil a moment to let go of the duvet.

“Yeah,” Neil says.

They end up at a place that apparently can’t decide if it’s a diner or a bar and that most likely hasn’t changed in the last thirty years or so. There are neon signs and old beer advertisements on the walls and there’s a jukebox crammed into a corner. It’s packed to the brim with locals and truckers, but one of the waitresses promises them a table in ten minutes.

She stares at Neil’s face for an uncomfortably long moment and Neil stares back at her, daring her to comment. 

“Car accident,” Andrew says nonchalantly and she apologizes and darts off. 

Those ten minutes turn into twenty that Andrew spends considering the menu with profound disinterest and that Neil spends considering Andrew. His fingers, restlessly tapping on the menu card, and his lips, slightly parted, and his eyes, downcast, unaware that Neil finds it impossible to look away. 

These days, Neil spends too much time wanting things that Andrew isn’t inclined to let him have. Not yet or maybe not ever. Neil wants to reach out so often, but he can’t tell if it’s too early to ask for that. Andrew might not be ready for him to ask and Neil doesn’t want to ask for trust he hasn’t earned yet. Until he’s sure, Neil will take whatever Andrew is willing to give.

Andrew looks up when the waitress returns, catches Neil staring and glares. 

Their table is in the back, the seats are sticky and the food is greasier than Neil thought was possible, but that doesn’t keep him from wolfing down his burger like he hasn’t eaten all day.

Next to them, one of the truckers makes a lewd comment about their waitress as she brings them the check and Neil can tell that Andrew is furious. He’s already fumbling with his wristbands.

“Hey,” Neil says. He waits until he has Andrew’s attention, then he mutters, “If you get arrested for stabbing someone–”

“You’ll what?”

“I don’t have enough money to bail you out.”

Andrew smirks and turns around to glare murderously at the truckers the next time one of them whistles at the waitress. Andrew doesn’t look particularly murderous at first glance, but there’s something about him that leaves no doubt that he means it. There’s no more whistling after that and when they leave, Andrew is in a much better mood than before. 

Halfway back to the motel, Andrew slows his steps and catches Neil by the collar of his shirt. It seems like a spur of the moment thing, but when Andrew cups Neil’s cheek, thumb dragging over the burnt skin there, Neil knows that it’s not. For a moment, Neil feels the waitress’s eyes on him again. 

People will always be staring.

In Palmetto, people know who he is and what happened, it’s been on the news, but Neil never gives anyone a chance to ask him uncomfortable questions. Or any questions at all. When Andrew is with him, people don’t even approach them. But they look. They always look at him.  He doesn’t mind when it’s Andrew who’s looking. Andrew has seen his face a thousand times and when he looks at him he sees Neil, just Neil. Andrew knows who he is and he looks at him like he couldn’t care less.

Andrew kisses him and Neil forgets about the other people and their eyes and their inquiring looks and their pity. For a minute there, Andrew’s hands and his lips and his tongue are all there is. When Andrew pulls away, Neil follows his lips and Andrew allows him one more kiss before he drags him onwards, back to the motel. 

Neil steals another kiss before Andrew can even get the door unlocked. Andrew fumbles with the key, swears when Neil kisses his neck and he nearly drops it, and then pulls Neil inside by the hem of his shirt. Neil ends up with his back against the door and Andrew flush against him.

Andrew’s hands slip under Neil’s shirt, skim over scars, and Neil gasps and tugs at Andrew’s hair so hard that he’s sure it must hurt, but letting go isn't an option right now. Andrew bites at his lip in return and Neil is trembling by the time Andrew stills and whispers a _yes or no_ into Neil’s ear. 

Neil isn’t even sure if Andrew can hear him over the sound of his hammering heart when he whispers back a _yes_ , so he says it again, louder, and Andrew complies.

Touches feather-light, Andrew’s hands skim down his sides, fingers tightening at Neil’s hips before he slowly sinks to his knees. When Andrew is on his knees like this and takes Neil apart bit by bit, he owns every single part of him. 

The thought should scare him, but, in truth, Neil doesn’t mind giving himself over, even if it’s just for a while, even if it’s at dusk in a ratty motel room with ugly wallpaper and old-fashioned duvets. Today, like yesterday, isn’t one of the days where Andrew pulls Neil’s hand where it wants it, where it’s allowed to be, so Neil keeps his fingers knotted in Andrew’s hair.

Afterwards Andrew vanishes into the bathroom and Neil drags himself over to his bed, leaving behind a trail of clothes. He keeps on his shirt, mainly out of habit, but he tugs off the wristbands that Andrew gave to him. Then he flicks on the lamp on the bedside table and waits. 

Andrew resurfaces a few minutes later, his eyes instantly on Neil. Neil is looking again, he’s well aware, but this time it’s only because he wants to see what Andrew is going to do next. There’s another bed and it has Andrew’s bag next to it, but Neil has scooted over so far on his own bed that there’s more than enough room for Andrew. 

Neil doesn’t know how to explain to Andrew that waking up will be easier if the first thing he sees in the morning is him. He doesn’t have to. Andrew, after a moment’s consideration, climbs into bed with him. He hasn’t bothered putting on pyjamas. His own wristbands join Neil’s on the bedside table, then he turns off the light. 

“I’m driving tomorrow,” Andrew says.

“Where are we going?”

“Don’t know,” Andrew mumbles. “Somewhere. We can go to Ohio and look at the world’s largest apple basket.”

“Okay,” Neil says. He doesn’t ask Andrew how he knows that the worlds largest apple basket is in Ohio. They’ll probably end up going somewhere else entirely, but for now Neil concentrates on the fact that they have a destination, whatever it’ll end up being. 

They’re not running.

*

Neil wakes up with a start. He hears the hum of the engine, the music on the radio, but it still takes him a second to realize that he’s in a car. He glances at the driver’s seat, not sure what he’s expecting. Andrew is driving. They’re still on the road.

“Where are we?” Neil asks.

“How would I know?” Andrew replies. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” Neil mutters. “What time’s it?”

“Three,” Andrew says. 

It seems that Andrew has been driving for the last four hours without stopping. They had a late breakfast at a diner across from their motel and didn’t leave until eleven. Neil has no clue when exactly he fell asleep, but it must have been a while ago. 

They’re not on the Interstate, not on a highway. There are woods on the left and woods on the right and no street signs in sight. There’s no point in asking Andrew if he has any idea where he’s going if he doesn’t even know what state they’re in. It’s at least another fifteen minutes until they pass through some small town and Andrew takes an abrupt right and pulls into a parking lot. 

“A farmer’s market?” Neil asks, frowning at the sign behind the parking lot. 

“I assume they’ll have food,” Andrew says and gets out of the car.

He’s not wrong, but Neil was certainly hoping for something more than a bunch of raw carrots.

Thankfully, the market turns out to be bigger than just three people selling vegetables from their own gardens. Neil follows Andrew with a lot more enthusiasm when he sees that Andrew is headed for an elderly lady who’s selling ten different kinds of pie.

The lady looks nice enough, but the curious glance she gives Neil makes his skin crawl.

“He had a bit of an accident in the kitchen,” Andrew says, mock-cheerful. “Can we get two slices of apple pie?”

“Of course, dear,” the lady says and hands them two paper plates with two generous slices of pie on them, her eyes flickering back to Neil’s face when he hands over the money for the pie. 

Neil ignores her inquiring eyes, thanks her, and walks away with Andrew in tow. 

“A kitchen accident?” Neil asks as they sit down at a picnic table. Is that what road trips are about? Picnic tables? Farmers markets?

“I don’t like it when they look at you like that,” Andrew says.

Neil stares at him. He stares and he almost sees it then. 

It’s gone in the blink of an eye, and Andrew says, “And I don’t like it when you look at me like you are right now.”

Neil turns his attention to his apple pie. It’s almost good enough to distract Neil from Andrew, who’s very persistently ignoring him now. He doesn’t talk and plays with the edges of his wristbands like he wants nothing more than to stab his pie. 

Afterwards, they meander about the market and Neil catches Andrew considering the cotton candy booth for a moment too long for it to be just a curious glance. “Do you want to get some?” Neil asks.

“Do I look like I’m five?” Andrew asks and walks on. “How about a tacky souvenir? They have fruit basket magnets.”

Neil snorts and picks up a black baseball cap with the _Bridgewater Farmer’s Market_ logo on it. “I think you’d look great in this one. It’s too bad that they don’t have them in orange.”

“Only if you get this one,” Andrew says and holds up the same one in blue. His expression speaks of boredom, but there’s a glint in his eyes. “It’ll really bring out your eyes.”

“Can I help you boys?” The owner of the booth has appeared out of nowhere, smiling at them like it would be her most genuine pleasure to sell them farmer’s market baseball caps. 

“Yes, we’ll take these,” Andrew says and pulls his wallet out of his pocket.

The owner’s eyes, as she hands back Andrew’s change, settle on Neil. 

“He rescued a cat from a burning building,” Andrew says without missing a beat. “He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

Neil turns away to hide his grin. He hears Andrew thank the owner, then Andrew takes him by the hand and pulls him away and Neil can’t hold in his laughter anymore. 

They walk past a row of booths, selling hot dogs and ice cream, past the picnic tables that are now infested with two extremely happy families and reach the end of the farmer’s market and the edge of a small lake, which Andrew deems a good place to sit down. 

There’s a group of girls sitting close-by, another family whose children are jumping around in the shallow water, but they’re all far enough away that they can easily be ignored.

Neil thought he was done laughing, but it bubbles up again and Andrew huffs and he’s smiling, too, and Neil can feel his heart skip a beat. 

Andrew puts the blue baseball cap on Neil’s head. “I’m expecting you to wear this every day for the rest of your life.”

It doesn’t exactly help, so Neil just laughs until he’s breathless, until the smile on Andrew’s face has vanished and the usual apathy has washed over his features again. Andrew stares down at their hands, their fingers still intertwined, like he’s trying to decide if he can stand the sight of it. 

For now, Andrew leaves his hand where it is and Neil doesn’t know what to do with the smile on his own face. It just won’t go away and every time he glances at Andrew, it threatens to become even broader. 

“Why a cat?” Neil asks.

“I like cats,” Andrew says. “They don’t talk.”

Neil takes that as a request for him to shut the hell up, so he does, but he doesn’t stop looking at Andrew, who still hasn’t stopped looking at their hands. Eventually, Andrew tugs his hand away from Neil’s and grumbles something about leaving his cigarettes in the car. He doesn’t move to get them, though. 

“Andrew,” Neil says after a while.

“What?”

Neil lifts his hand. “Can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Can I touch you?” Neil asks. 

“If you must.”

“That’s not an answer,” Neil says. But Andrew knows that _if you must_ isn’t a _yes._ If it’s anything, it’s a _no._

Andrew doesn’t reply, so Neil doesn’t move. Perhaps he shouldn’t have asked. He should have waited, but he doesn’t know if he could have ever been sure about asking this kind of question. He thought it safer to ask it here, by a lake, in the sunshine, instead of in a dingy motel room, but in the end it just isn’t a safe question to ask, no matter where they are. 

“Fine,” Andrew says. “Yes.”

“I don’t care if you say no.”

“And I don’t care if you care,” Andrew says. “I know perfectly well when I want to say no. If you thought I didn’t, would you even ask?”

“I wouldn’t,” Neil says. Possibly, it wasn’t such a bad thing that he asked after all. 

He puts his arm around Andrew and waits. He waits for Andrew to complain, to push him away, but in the end Andrew only says, “I hate you.” 

Neil barely hears it because there’s no real intent, no real malice behind it. It doesn’t sound the same anymore. Andrew just says it because it’s safe and it’s familiar and he doesn’t know any other way of saying what he wants to say. 

Andrew rests his head against Neil’s shoulder and that is where he stays, for five minutes, for ten minutes, until he sighs and pulls far enough away so he can pluck the baseball cap off Neil’s head. Then he threads his fingers into Neil’s hair and pulls him in for a kiss. 

It’s so easy to forget everything else when Andrew is kissing him. Time becomes a fickle thing. It doesn’t matter for how long they’ve been kissing as long as they don’t stop any time soon. 

The first raindrops that land on Neil’s head, on his cheek, on his arms, are disregarded, but once the handful of raindrops threaten to turn into a steady downpour and people start ducking under roofs, Andrew pulls Neil to his feet, grabs their baseball caps and drags him back to the car. It might have been a better idea to wait out the rain under the roof of a vegetable stand, because by the time they’ve reached the car they’re both soaked. 

“Maybe we should find a place to spend the night,” Andrew says. There are raindrops on this face and Neil kisses him just because. 

“We should,” Neil agrees. 

Bridgewater doesn’t have a motel but a small inn, its prices low enough that they don’t care what it’s called as long as they’re out of the rain and can take off their damp clothes. The lady behind the reception chatters about the weather, her smile not wavering for a second when Andrew tells her that they’ll only be needing one room, the implication of it perfectly clear. She hands Neil their key and tells them that the inn’s restaurant is open until midnight and that they offer room service.

Andrew stomps up the stairs ahead of Neil, carrying both their bags. The second Neil has let them into their room and has closed the door behind them, Andrew peels off his shirt and lets it drop to the floor. 

“You can have the bathroom,” Andrew says.

Neil shakes his head. Andrew has seen his scars and right now Neil doesn’t feel like hiding. He takes off his shoes, pulls off his shirt and shucks off his pants, not really paying attention to what Andrew is doing. In nothing but his boxers, Neil sits down on the bed, looking around their room.  It’s spacious and as old-fashioned as the motel was last night, but it’s almost charming. If pastel colors are your thing, at least.You wouldn’t expect to encounter cockroaches in here. There’s a picture of a mountain range on the wall behind the bed and there’s a desk by the window, looking out at the field behind the inn.

Andrew watches him from across the room, the look on his face carefully detached. He doesn’t look at him differently because of his scars. He’s just Neil. Andrew sits down next to him, also in his boxers, his arms bare, an unfamiliar sight. 

“I hope room service isn’t expensive.” Andrew’s eyes flick to the window, where rain is still pouring down outside. “Because I’m not going anywhere tonight.” 

Neil lies back with a sigh. “Neither am I.”

Andrew turns around. “What now?”

“I don’t know. We could watch a movie.” Other than the TV at the motel, this one might actually work. “Or you could kiss me.”

Andrew holds his gaze and there’s a challenge in it. He lies down as well, facing Neil, perfectly still. Neil isn’t sure what he’s waiting for, if he’s waiting for anything at all. Andrew is most likely a few seconds away from telling him to stop looking. 

But he doesn’t. 

He shifts. His fingers twitch. 

“Remember what I said last time?” Andrew finally asks.

Neil nods. Today he won’t end up with his wrists pinned to the mattress.

“Here,” Andrew says and takes Neil’s hand and puts it on his chest.

Neil expects Andrew to tense under his fingertips, but it’s different today. It’s almost like he’s getting used to it, except that there’s most likely no getting used to it. There will always be days when Andrew can’t stand the thought of Neil’s hands on him. And there’ll be days like this one. 

“Remember where else?” Andrew asks. 

Neil nods again. He’ll never forget the places where Andrew has allowed his hands to be. 

Andrew doesn’t say anything else and scoots closer to kiss Neil. Andrew’s fingertips, cold on Neil's skin, brush over Neil’s scars like they’re barely there. For a while, Neil keeps his hand right where Andrew put it, then he moves it, slowly, up to Andrew’s neck, fingers curling into the hair at the back of his head.

Their kisses are slow, unhurried. They’re not running. Maybe this is what road trips are all about. Drenched clothes and small town inns and unhurried kisses. 

The rain stops and Andrew is still kissing him. The rain starts again and Neil trails his knuckles down Andrew’s spine and Andrew stops kissing him, but he doesn’t move away and his breath still tickles Neil’s skin. Andrew’s hand is curled against Neil’s chest, unmoving. Neil rests his head against Andrew’s and his knuckles keep wandering up and down Andrew’s spine, up and down until Andrew’s breath has evened out.

Neil’s hand stills on the small of Andrew’s back. He’s not sure if he’s allowed to keep it there. He’s not sure if Andrew is going to smack him square in the face if Neil wakes him up now. He’s not sure if Andrew will smack him if he wakes up in half an hour, or an hour, and realizes that Neil hasn’t let go yet.

He carefully pulls his hand away and Andrew doesn’t wake up, only twitches. Neil closes his eyes as well. He can take a quick nap before they find themselves some dinner. 

Neil wakes up with Andrew’s head jerking against his chin. Andrew doesn’t apologize, frowns at Neil as he sits up and then vanishes into the bathroom. Neil rubs his eyes, finds himself a shirt, doesn’t bother with pants and picks up the room service menu. It’s past eight and he can only hope that it won’t take too long for them to get something to eat. 

“I want something with fries,” Andrew says when he resurfaces from the bathroom and peers over Neil’s shoulder. Then he gets his cigarette and climbs onto the desk by the window. It’s still drizzling, but Andrew doesn’t care enough to keep the window closed. 

Neil watches as Andrew lights a cigarette, but turns away before Andrew catches him looking.

*

“East or west?” Andrew asks. 

“North,” Neil says. He didn’t want to go east in the first place and they went west, or at least north-west, nearly all day yesterday. If they go south, they’ll end up back home and Neil doesn’t want to go home yet. He likes that it’s just the two of them, as strange as it was in the beginning. Aaron might be back in Columbia by now and Neil wants it to be just them for a few more days. 

“Chicago? Canada?”

“Michigan?”

“Michigan,” Andrew echoes. “Why Michigan?”

“I don’t know.” Neil puts on his seatbelt. “Just drive.”

Andrew turns the key in the ignition and the engine roars to life. Much like yesterday, Andrew stays off the Interstate and doesn’t pull onto a highway. They drive through woods and fields and small towns they forget the second they’ve passed through them. 

They stop for lunch somewhere in Indiana, but Neil doesn’t know that they’re in Indiana until he sees it on a sign. He’s not sure if Andrew knew that they are in Indiana. Mostly, Neil feels like he turns left and right at random, going wherever he feels like going. Andrew doesn’t care if they end up in Michigan or not. Neil doesn’t really care either, but even after two days on the road, he likes having a destination. Because if they have a destination, they’re going somewhere. They’re not running.

After lunch, Neil drives. He finds a highway and goes north. Highways are quick, country roads are inconspicuous. It’s sunny and Andrew’s fingers are drumming on his thigh along to the music on the radio. He doesn’t talk, but Neil doesn’t feel much like talking either. He wonders if Andrew would let him take his hand. 

At the next rest stop, Andrew tells him to pull over. They switch again and Andrew takes them off the highway at the next opportunity. They’re in Michigan now. Somewhere in Michigan.  They’re back to driving through small towns and past farms and lonely houses. Andrew stops at a tiny gas station and Neil takes the opportunity to stretch his legs. Andrew returns to him with two bottles of water and chocolate bars and chips, all of which he dumps on Neil’s lap before he pulls back on the road. 

Somewhere in Michigan, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, in some teensy town, they pass a park where a bunch of teenagers are playing Exy. Neil can’t help but turn his head to watch as long as he can while Andrew races past the park. 

Andrew sighs. “You want to watch, don’t you?” He doesn’t wait for Neil to reply, turns the car around and parks it at the side of the street. 

They sit down at the edge of the field the kids are playing on. There’s only eight of them and they don’t have the gear they’d need for a proper game, but they’re certainly making the best of it. Neil and Andrew aren’t the only ones watching and nobody pays them any mind. 

Neil mostly has his eyes on one of the girls, a striker with bright red hair who scores like it’s what she was born to do. It’s her who stops in the middle of the field when everyone else starts to pack up at the end of the game and stares at them with narrowed eyes. If she followed the news on Exy during the last few weeks, she would have seen their faces pop up here and there. Something that could definitely be recognition passes over her face. 

“Look, you have a fan,” Andrew says. 

“Maybe _you_ have a fan,” Neil mutters.

“Unlikely,” Andrew says. 

Admittedly, the girl also a striker. Neil gives her a thumbs-up. The girl beams and then joins her friends at the side of the field. When she starts talking to them and points across the field, Neil gets to his feet. “Let’s go.”

“Not in the mood for writing autographs?” Andrew asks.

Neil highly doubts that those kids would have asked either of them for autographs, so he only huffs and leads the way back to the car. 

They check into a motel one town over. There’s not a single cockroach in sight, the TV works and the duvets look like they’ve actually been washed sometime during the last ten years. They eat at the diner across the street and Andrew looks around, mumbling, “We need to stay on the lookout for all your devoted fans,” to Neil. 

Neil scoffs at him and Andrew smirks. 

They have burgers and ice cream and afterwards they tumble into bed and Andrew kisses Neil until he can’t remember how to breathe.  Afterwards they take turns in the bathroom and when Neil comes out, Andrew is still in his bed, pants in a heap on the floor next to the bed, his wristbands on the bedside table. 

Neil crawls into bed next to him and pries the sheets out from under them. He pulls them up, tucking them around Andrew as well, and mumbles a _good night_ that Andrew returns without much enthusiasm before he turns off the lights with a yawn.

When Neil wakes up, it’s still dark in their room. There’s that moment again, that moment where he can’t remember where he is or why he’s here and why he’s in an unfamiliar room. Yesterday morning, the first thing Neil saw was the back of Andrew’s head; right now he only sees dark shapes and the streetlight that shines in through a gap between the curtains that tells him that it’s the middle of the night.

The covers are gone and Neil’s feet are cold. The air conditioning works a little too well, it seems, but there’s something warm behind him. Close to him. Much closer than usual. Andrew’s fingers are clenched in his shirt. 

“Andrew,” Neil says, knowing full well that he might end up regretting waking him up. “ _Andrew_.”

He can feel Andrew jerk awake, can feel a tug on his shirt, but the punch he was bracing himself for doesn’t come. Neil retrieves the sheets from where they’re bunched up at the end of the bed. Andrew grunts and moves away, pulling the sheets with him. Neil pulls them back. 

“Stop it,” Andrew says. 

“You stop it,” Neil grumbles. 

Now Andrew punches him. “Go sleep in your own bed.” 

“This is my bed.”

Andrew punches him again. Then he sighs and scoots closer and the sheets are back. He ends up with his face pressed against Neil’s upper arm.

“I hate you,” Andrew says after a few minutes. 

Neil, already half asleep again, mutters, “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” Andrew says, his voice muffled now.

Neil doesn’t reply. It’s too early for this, whatever it is that this could turn into if they kept talking.

*

Andrew is leaning against the car, ready to go. When Neil joins him after giving back their key, he asks, “Do you have your passport?” 

“Yeah,” Neil says. “Why?”

“Because we’re taking a shortcut.”

“A shortcut,” Neil echoes.

“We’re going east,” Andrew says, “through Canada. It’s about six hours to Niagara Falls.”

“You want to go to Niagara Falls.”

Andrew shrugs. “I’ve never been. We can’t go on a road trip and come back with two baseball caps from a farmer’s market.”

“Okay,” Neil says. They’re going somewhere; they’re not running. He catches Andrew by the collar of his shirt and pulls him in for a kiss. “Okay,” he says again. 

“You’re driving,” Andrew says.

Neil knows that Niagara Falls is going to be the last stop before they go back to Columbia. It’ll take them at least two days to get back down there if they want to take a couple of breaks in between.  And even though he’s spent the last few days trying to convince himself that they’re not on the run, even though he woke up disoriented every single day, Neil likes the way he and Andrew just fell into place on the road, how they more or less aimlessly drove about the country, one vague destination at a time.

With a few stops in between, it takes them what’s left of the morning and the better part of the afternoon to get to Niagara Falls. There are tourists everywhere, and Neil and Andrew only stick around long enough to snap a picture. Andrew takes another one of Neil before they go, then they set out to find themselves a place to stay the night and something to eat, far away from the gaggles of tourists.

They take the car across the border and drive past a handful of motels with _No Vacancy_ signs until Andrew gets annoyed enough to pull off the highway. He parks the car at some plaza that’s dotted with restaurants, some of the names familiar, some one of a kind. 

“Let’s get dinner first,” Andrew says. He considers a diner and a steakhouse, but eventually nods at an Italian restaurant. It’s a hole in the wall, but inexpensive and charming enough not to scare people away. “Pizza?”

“Pizza sounds good,” Neil says. 

The restaurant turns out to be a rustic, dark wood and red-and-white tablecloths sort of place. They immediately get a table and their waiter gives Neil a big smile. Really, it’s a little too big.

“He tripped into a campfire,” Andrew says offhandedly.

Their waiter splutters and hands each of them a menu before he stalks off.

Neil hides his smile behind his menu. Andrew kicks his shin under the table. 

The staring is concealed much better when they order and it’s not even noticeable when they get their food. Their waiter returns to clear their plates away and asks them if they’d like to see the dessert menu. 

When Andrew doesn’t reply, Neil says, “I think we’ll just have the check.” Once their waiter is gone, Neil narrows his eyes at Andrew. Something’s off, but Neil can’t quite put his finger on it. “What?”

“Nothing,” Andrew says and it sounds like a lie. 

Neil doesn’t ask again, but he does notice that Andrew keeps looking around, like he doesn’t want to be here anymore all of a sudden. Neil glances at the couple that’s sitting at the table next to theirs, but he can't find anything strange about them. Nothing about them would warrant any glaring, they’re just drinking wine and laughing. Neil might have not even noticed them if Andrew hadn't kept looking at them. 

They split the bill and Andrew is quick to leave, Neil at his heels. Andrew doesn’t talk on their way back to the car, which in itself isn’t odd, but Neil can see his anger in every step he takes. 

“Hey,” Neil says when they’ve reached the car.

Andrew fumbles with his cigarettes. “I hate this,” he says.

“Andrew,” Neil says. He’s not sure what exactly this is about, but he’s treading on thin ice. 

“I do,” Andrew says before Neil has even had enough time to think of anything else to say,“I hate this, I hate that you’re looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Neil asks. He was just looking at him. Just looking.

“Like I mean something to you,” Andrew says. 

Neil takes a deep breath. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s not sure if it would be wise to say anything at all. This is about the couple next to them even though Neil didn’t see anything strange about them. They were a couple, a regular couple and they were looking at each other the way Neil looks at Andrew. Neil folds his arms across his chest. He wishes he could say that he considered his words carefully, but they simply tumble out of his mouth. “Would it be so bad if you did?”

“Yes,” Andrew says and it’s laced with venom. “I should be nothing to you. This is nothing. We are nothing.”

“So you keep saying.”

“But you,” Andrew says, his voice low now, “you want us to be more.”

Now Neil considers what to say. What he wants to say might end with Andrew stabbing him in this parking lot, but what’s the point in any of this if he isn’t honest with Andrew? Neil Josten has stopped pretending the day he stopped being Nathaniel Wesninski. “Maybe I do.”

“But I can’t be like them,” Andrew says. “I can’t be like other couples, I can’t. I won’t go out on dates with you and split a dessert with you. I can’t be _that_. And chances are that I won’t ever be _that_ , no matter for how long you’re willing to wait.”

“You don’t have to be.”

Andrew stares at his feet. “I won’t be… a boyfriend.”

“I never asked you to.”

“Still,” Andrew says, “I can’t be who you want me to be.”

“I want you to be who you already are,” Neil says. “I never said I wanted any of that. You don’t have to be my boyfriend. We don’t have to go out on dates. I just want you to stop telling me how much you hate me if it’s not true anymore.”

Andrew says nothing. That’s answer enough. Andrew looks at him and that’s when Neil sees it. He’s something to Andrew, too. That’s what Andrew really hates. He hates that Neil isn’t nothing. 

“Let’s just go,” Neil says.

Andrew looks like he still very much wants to stab Neil, but in the end he shakes his head and shoots him a bored glance before he gets into the driver’s seat. 

When they are back in the car, Neil says, “I think I know where I want to go tomorrow.”

“East or west?”

“East,” Neil says. “To the beach.”

“Okay,” Andrew says and starts the car. “Let’s go to the beach. Let’s go right now.”

“That’s… an eight-hour drive. At least.”

“Depends on where exactly we’re going. And it’s not that late yet,” Andrew says. He has a point there and with Andrew’s driving they’ll make it in seven hours, but they’ve already been on the road for most of the day. 

Andrew has already decided this, though, and Neil has already pushed it enough today, so he only says, “Let me know if you want to switch.”

Andrew doesn’t say anything and pulls out of the parking lot. He doesn’t stay off the Interstate anymore. He doesn’t ask Neil to drive. In fact, he doesn’t talk to Neil at all and Neil is sure that it’s because of what he said to him. 

He doesn’t expect that they’ll talk about it any time soon. Maybe Andrew will stop telling him that he hates him and maybe he won’t. 

Sometime after they pass Syracuse, Neil falls asleep. He wakes up to the sound of a car door slamming shut somewhere in the distance. It’s dark and the clock on the dashboard tells him that it’s almost 2 AM. They’re parked at a rest stop and Andrew is fast asleep in the driver’s seat. Neil has no idea where exactly they are or if they’re close to the beach. It really doesn’t even matter _when_ they get there. 

Neil closes his eyes and when  Andrew’s phone starts ringing, he can't tell if he was actually asleep or if he was just drifting. It’s still dark. Nobody’s calling Andrew, it’s just his alarm.  Neil blinks at him and Andrew blinks back before he turns off the alarm and starts the car. 

“Three more hours,” Andrew says.

Neil hums. He doesn’t go back to sleep. Andrew is going fast, completely disregarding the speed limit. Neil would tell him that they’re not in a hurry if he thought that it would do any good. He stares at Andrew’s hands instead, one on the steering wheel, the other one resting on his thigh and once again Neil wonders if Andrew would let him hold it if he asked.

But he doesn’t ask. He’s said enough.

Andrew still notices. Of course he notices. He sighs like he wants to say _I hate you_ , but he reaches out instead and his fingers brush against Neil’s and even though he’s not quite holding his hand, it’s something close. And it’s something far from _I hate you_. 

Eventually, Neil nods off. He dreams of cars and smoke and anxious glances at the rearview mirrors and can’t shake the thought that they’re not going fast enough. 

Andrew wakes him up with a shove. “Wake up.”

Neil rubs his eyes. “Where are we?” 

“Connecticut,” Andrew says. He nods at Neil’s window. “At the beach.”

Behind Neil, the sun is rising. They’re parked at the side of the road, at the edge of some neighborhood. It’s beyond Neil why Andrew took them here of all places, but it doesn’t really matter. Because behind Neil, there’s the ocean, there’s the beach, completely deserted. 

Neil gets out of the car and takes off his shoes before he steps onto the sand. Andrew is right behind him, but when Neil walks towards the water, Andrew remains where he is. Neil stops when the sand is wet under his toes and lets the water wash over his feet. All he hears is the sound of gentle waves, all he sees is the endless water. 

He turns around and goes back to Andrew a few minutes later. Andrew is still standing right where Neil has left him, hands in his pockets. Neil waits for him to light a cigarette as he always does and breathes deeply.  Andrew hands him the cigarette and Neil watches it burn and he watches the waves crash. Neil sits down, his fingers in the sand. He sees Andrew looking down at him out of the corner of his eyes and finally Andrew joins him, another cigarette already lit. The air is cool and salty and the cigarette smoke burns in his eyes.

For a moment, Neil is at a different beach and he’s alone and his mother is dead and he has no time to linger, he has to keep going and when he blinks he sees a burning car. When he blinks again, he sees nothing but crashing waves. 

He’s not running anymore.

Andrew is next to him and he’s not going anywhere. Even after what Neil said to him only hours ago, even though it was the opposite of what Andrew wanted to hear, he drove all night just to bring him here in time for sunrise. 

Andrew plucks the burnt-down cigarette from Neil’s fingers when he doesn’t let go of it. 

“Andrew?” Neil says.

Andrew tilts his head. He’s listening.

“Can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Can I touch you?” Neil asks. 

This time, Andrew doesn’t hesitate. He stubs out his own cigarette and says, “Yes.”

Neil scoots behind him and puts his hand on Andrew’s back, between his shoulder blades, and he leaves it there. Andrew looks out at the waves and minutes tick by and Neil waits. 

Finally, Andrew leans back against him and tips his head back against Neil's shoulder and Neil kisses his neck and carefully puts his arms around him. 

“Still yes?” Neil asks. 

“Still yes,” Andrew replies. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea why I decided to set this fic in pretty much the only corner of the States that I've never been to but here we are. Sorry if anything is inaccurate. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are very much appreciated :)


End file.
